The next day, we headed to Newport, about 1h45 from Boston. Already on the bus, we could feel the atmosphere changing. Less urban, more open, more like a “wealthy East Coast coastline breathing quiet luxury.” And upon arriving in Newport, it felt like someone had turned up the level of reality by a notch. The whole city gives the impression of being a movie set where everything is too perfect to feel completely real. Streets lined with huge properties hidden behind massive hedges, discreet but clearly outrageously expensive cars, and that strange feeling that each house could belong either to a celebrity or to someone who has never once had to look at a price in their life. We later learned that some of these residences belonged to figures like Nicolas Cage or major American magnates, including the founder of Home Depot. At that point, we quickly understood the tone of the day: we were no longer in a historical tour, we were in the “absurd wealth level.”

We went to visit the famous Christmas “mansions,” two iconic estates that completely transform the idea of what a house can be. The tickets are not insignificant either: around 30 to 35 USD per person per house, and since we visited two of them, it quickly became an entire day dedicated to this, both in time and in budget. But honestly, the moment you step inside, you understand this is not just a visit, it’s a full immersion into another world.

The first stop was Marble House. And there, it’s an immediate shock the second you step inside. This mansion was built between 1888 and 1892 for Alva Vanderbilt, a member of the famous Vanderbilt family, one of the wealthiest and most influential dynasties of America’s Gilded Age. The construction cost at the time was around 11 million dollars, which already sounds enormous for the late 1800s, but when adjusted to today’s value, it easily represents several hundred million dollars, not even counting the historical and artistic value of the place.

And this house was not designed as a simple residence: it was literally a statement of wealth. Alva Vanderbilt wanted to impress New York high society and prove that her family had reached a level of prestige comparable to, or even surpassing, European aristocracies. As a result, she commissioned a house inspired by 18th-century French palaces, with an almost extreme obsession for marble. It is estimated that around 500,000 cubic feet of marble were used in the construction, imported from multiple countries, which explains why the place feels overwhelmingly luxurious from the very first step inside.

Inside, everything is designed to impress without pause. The walls are covered in polished marble, the columns are massive, the staircases look sculpted rather than built, and every room is filled with golden details, intricate mouldings, and hand-painted ceilings. There is especially the ballroom, enormous, designed to host high-society receptions, where hundreds of guests would literally come to “perform” their social status. The style is heavily inspired by the Palace of Versailles, with a clear intention to replicate European grandeur, but in an ultra-exaggerated American version.

What makes Marble House even more impressive is precisely this total lack of restraint. There is no “simple corner,” no visual pause. Every single room is dense, detailed, shiny, almost overwhelming. Even the more functional spaces, like hallways or secondary salons, are decorated as if they were part of a royal palace. You walk through it with a strange feeling that the word “moderation” never existed in the vocabulary of this house.

Beyond the aesthetic aspect, there is also an important social dimension. Marble House was not just a summer residence: it was a tool of power. The Vanderbilts used these spaces to host events, influence high society, and position themselves within an extremely competitive social hierarchy at the time. Every architectural detail was therefore also a message: wealth, status, influence, and cultural domination.

Today, even though the mansion belongs to the Preservation Society of Newport County and is open to the public as a museum, it still carries that almost intimidating aura. It is not a house you visit casually. It is a place that forces you to slow down, look closely, and realize how certain eras pushed luxury to an almost absurd level.

Then we headed to The Breakers, and there… we changed dimensions again. This is the most famous summer residence of the Vanderbilt family, built in the late 19th century (1893–1895) for Cornelius Vanderbilt II. At the time, it cost around 7 million dollars — which translates today into several hundred million, considering not only construction but also materials, craftsmanship, and the sheer extravagance of the project. And unlike Marble House, which is already overwhelming, The Breakers pushes the concept even further: it is literally a European palace transplanted onto the Rhode Island coastline.

From the moment you walk in, you realize nothing is left to chance. The main hall immediately takes your breath away: massive marble columns, monumental arches, and a ceiling so high it feels unreal, covered in hand-painted murals and gold leaf details. The frescoes are inspired by the Italian Renaissance, with mythological scenes, allegorical figures, and intricate artwork that looks like it took months—if not years—to complete. And at the center of it all hangs an enormous crystal chandelier, acting like the crown jewel of the space, with dozens of arms of light reflecting off every gilded surface. It’s the kind of chandelier that doesn’t just illuminate a room, it dominates it.

Every single room has its own level of “wow.” The main salon, for example, is so vast it feels more like a royal reception hall than a living space. The ceilings are carved with almost unbelievable precision, covered in gold mouldings, floral patterns, and painted scenes that create a sense of movement, as if the ceiling itself were alive. The walls are layered with marble, imported carved wood from Europe, and luxurious textiles that have been meticulously restored. Even the smallest details—door handles, window frames, fireplaces—are treated like works of art.

Then there is the dining room, absolutely spectacular, with a massive table capable of hosting dozens of guests, surrounded by columns, mirrors, and a painted ceiling that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a Venetian palace. It’s easy to imagine the American high society of the time, gathering in these rooms not just to dine, but to perform status, wealth, and influence. Everything here is designed to be seen, admired, and to quietly overwhelm the visitor with the weight of luxury.

But what stands out just as much as the interiors are the enormous windows overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Every room seems designed to constantly remind you that this wealth didn’t stop at the walls—it extended all the way into the landscape. Seeing the sea framed by gilded ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and marble walls creates an almost surreal contrast. It feels like nature and human opulence were deliberately staged together, as if neither was complete without the other.

And yes, this visit easily takes an entire day. Between Marble House and The Breakers, the transfers, the guided explanations, and the moments where you just stop and fall silent because everything is too overwhelming, time completely disappears. You’re not just visiting houses: you’re moving through a world where wealth itself was a form of art, almost an architectural competition, where every room seems to say “look how far you can go when there are no limits.”

Mami and I were completely stunned from start to finish. We would look at each other sometimes without saying a word, just exchanging silent “ok… wow,” because there was literally nothing else to add. We moved slowly, almost in slow motion, as if speaking too much would break something in the atmosphere.

I don’t think we ever really managed to speak normally during the visits. We were in a state between fascination, shock, and total disbelief. Every room brought a new level of “this can’t be real,” and at some point you simply stop trying to comment. You just look, you absorb, and you let your eyes do the work. That was exactly us: speechless, a little lost, completely taken in by the grandeur of the place… and deep down, just genuinely amazed to be experiencing it together.

After the mansions, we kept walking near the water, around the grounds, and the atmosphere shifted completely. We came back down from that extreme luxury into something lighter, more playful. That’s when mami and I started doing a bit of nonsense, in the best possible way: we began picking up little shiny stones from the ground, convincing ourselves we had just found our “36 million dollars.” We were laughing like kids, completely disconnected from the fact that we had just spent the day inside homes worth absurd fortunes.

By the end of the day, everything was lit up for Christmas. The Newport gardens had turned into a fairytale scene, with thousands of lights everywhere, decorated trees, and glowing pathways. It felt almost unreal after such an intense day. It was like we were still inside a movie, but a softer version of it, more magical than grand.

We then went into a few small Christmas shops. And of course, the signature moment of the trip: I found a Christmas ornament for my mom that said “Congrats on your license,” and I added “pispis” on it just to make her laugh (pispis being her nickname lol). Completely useless little gestures, but the kind that end up becoming the most precious memories.

For dinner, we went to the Red Parrot Restaurant. Really good, but we had clearly overdone it at lunch. We were barely hungry anymore, except out of principle. And yet earlier that day, I probably had the best pizza of my life. Simple, but perfect: crispy, well cheesed, hot in just the right way, the kind of pizza you already know you’ll never quite find again, no matter how hard you try.

Looking back, the day feels like a strange but beautiful mix: extreme luxury, American history, impossible mansions, the ocean, absurd laughter, amazing food, and exhaustion. An entire day moving between two worlds: the Vanderbilt world, and ours—two people picking up fake gemstones and laughing. And that’s probably the real memory: not just the mansions, but everything that happened in between them.